


Ballet

by GladHeWasToDie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ballet, Gen, ballet!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1766254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GladHeWasToDie/pseuds/GladHeWasToDie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Not serious*</p>
<p>Jim forces his sniper to join him in a job, one Moran isn't so graceful in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ballet

"Moran, my office. Briefing."  
Sebastian picked up what Jim said on his way to the study, and looked up from his book. He knew that tone. He hated that tone. It was almost laced with guilt, and only used in times where Jim was about to give him an awful job. Not a difficult job, he has no issue handing the sniper tasks that are beyond his capability, but am awful job. Last time he heard that kind of 'briefing' he was shipped off to some dump in Russia for 8 weeks. 

With a sigh the dragged his feet to Jim's office, throwing his body lazily down on the chair in front of Jim's desk. "So, what is it?" He asked reluctantly. Jim sat down his phone and set his forearms down on his desk, fingertips touching. "Sebastian, due to the nature of this job, you know I wouldn't be asking you to take part unless it was absolutely necessary." This was different, the sniper thought. Jim usually didn't care too much if the blond was being put through hell and back, but he seemed much too concerned about this. 

"Have you ever heard of Aleksei Menshchikov?" Jim queried, relaxing back in his chair.  
"Yeah. He's one of the big boys in the Russian Mafia, ain't he?"  
"Yes. He controls the work they do in England, he's lived here for 6 years. He has a little more on us than he should, and he's taken something that's mine."  
"Right.. So I have to go get it back?"  
The criminal sighed. "No."  
Sebastian looked confused. "Then what? You want a bullet in his forehead? That's a bit risky boss, it's the Russian Maf-"  
"Sebastian, I need to slip something into his daughters drink."  
"..Right?"  
"The problem is, there's more men looking after his daughter than there is looking after him."  
"So what's the plan?" 

Jim sat back up, his fingers interlocked with his other hand. He couldn't even look his sniper in the eye. Was he.. _Embarrassed_? 

"His daughter attends The Royal Ballet school in London. The only way to get access to her without knowing her personally is to be in her class. We don't even need to stay the whole class - just long enough for me to get her water bott-"  
"No."  
"Sebasti-"  
"Nope. Sorry boss, don't do tights." Sebastian stood up and turned to leave the office.  
" _ **Sebastian**_." Jim growled.  
Sebastian stopped, sighed, and sunk back into the comfy leather seat.  
"One class, boss."  
"One class." Jim agreed. 

 

*******

Mortified, was what sprung to mind as Sebastian filed into the gym behind Jim and several other young ladies, all somewhere in their early twenties. The girls were chatting amongst themselves, a few giggling and looking as the sniper tried to rearrange his balls to they weren't so fucking visible through the thin layer of nylon over his lower body. The consultant rolled his eyes dramatically, wishing Sebastian could act a little more civilised. He tugged the blond down to whisper in his ear, as most other people seemed to be doing. 

"That's her, in the Persian Rose leotard." He said softly into Sebastian's ear. Sebastian looked over, glanced at the group of girls and back to Jim.  
"They all wearin' pink ones, boss."  
Jim have him a glare. "Brunette. 5 foot 9, hair scraped back with a pink bobble. Not wearing pumps."  
Sebastian glanced over for the second time and was quick to spot her with a more understandable description.  
"Right, well her water bottle is grey."  
Jim rolled his eyes. "Thanks for your help, Moran." 

The whole class was soon hushed as a woman in a black leotard entered the room rather gracefully. As she began to speak, talking through some sort of new-year motivational speech, Sebastian was thinking about the severe lack of big breasts and nice arses in this room. All the girls seems to be the same. Tall, slim, pale, boney. Suddenly the class seemed to split up and the ladies and Jim began to stretch. This wasn't stretching like Sebastian knew it. Instead of lunging, they were putting their legs up on the bars and touching their toes. With a frown on his face, the sniper copied Jim's every move. He was quite surprised at how easy Jim was finding this. He knew Jim was _flexible_ , but not quite like this. As a matter of fact, Sebastian was surprised how easy _he_ was finding this. How'd have known his combat training would come in handy in ballet. 

Again, Sebastian wasn't paying attention and seemed to miss why everyone was queuing up. This felt like high school all over again. He was about three quarters of the way down the queue when the girl at the front stepped forward. Without a word, she spun herself around and rested all her bodyweight on one toe. Sebastian's stomach dropped. There was no way he was being expected to do that. The next girl stepped forward and bent her entire body back into and arch, placing her hands flat on the floor. The blond's jaw almost hit the floor. It wasn't long before Jim was at the tip of the queue. Sebastian was curious as to what his boss was going to do, the blond didn't even know what _he_ was going to do. Jim stepped forward and without a word he slid down to the ground, one leg in front, one leg behind. Since when could he do the _splits ___?! The critical teacher gave Jim a nod of approval and the criminal filed to the back of the line. Sebastian stepped forward, deep breath, looked at his teacher and went with plan A.

"Gotta piss, miss." He grumbled and stormed straight out of the hall before she could object. The teacher sighed and turned to the girls. "First time nervousness, we get it a lot." She said softly before moving on with the class. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a joke, not to be taken seriously!


End file.
